


King of Shadows

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Characters - New interpretation, First Age, General, Subjects - Legends/Myth/History, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:04:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elu Thingol looks back in anger from the Halls of Mandos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

"King of Shadows" they named me in my life, friends and enemies both. "Greycloak, Hidden King, Elu Thingol". Now I dwell in shadows indeed, and I no longer need a name. The fëa knows itself and is known, and that is enough, here in the Houses of the Dead.

She asks, my love, my betrayer, why I did what I did; why I made the demand that doomed us all, daughter, people, realm. She did not know what I felt, in that moment when I looked upon the Man, and upon our daughter, and upon them together. She could not have known, being what she is: ancient world-maker whose heart and thought must be forever beyond my understanding, though not beyond my love. 

Among the Undying, only Melkor and his creatures ever knew fear. 

But when the Great Jewel was mine, bloodstained and stainless, ah! The memory of the Elves is long and sometimes we forget, and think it perfect. Yet when I looked upon that Light, I knew that my remembrance through all those Ages under Stars and Sun had been only a shadow of Its true glory. Even _her_ face, my love, most beloved, most beautiful, even _her_ light faded, before that Light. How could I have turned again from the living fire to its mere mirror? How could I have returned to shadows, even shadows so fair as the Sun and the Moon and she?

And yet, and yet. We the Dead sit in shadows of thought and memory. We speak seldom, even to those whom we most loved and hated in our lives. We think, we remember.

And I wonder, was it only my weakness that broke us? What Song would have been sung, if I had not asked for a Silmaril? If having It I had given It to those who made their claim bloody-handed? Fëanor's sons wait out their doom in silence, but to Maedhros I spoke, king to king uncrowned, and kingly he answered. They too would have held the Jewel fast, the Light that their father saved, until the black tide from the North drowned us all. Late or soon Morgoth would have had us, whether the Silmaril shone in his crown, or in the deeps of Menegroth or upon Himring's cold height. 

And no armies would have come out of the West without the Silmaril, no help for doomed Beleriand. Only for the Silmaril did the Valar let my descendant and her spouse pass the walls of their will. Only for the Silmaril did they remit their doom upon those who went living into the West. Only for the Silmaril did they stir themselves against their fallen brother. Doriath died and our child was lost forever (ah Lúthien! tears unnumbered I have shed for you!) only for the Silmaril. Only so that the Light that was stolen could return to the West. And so I too will ask: by Whose prompting was it, truly, that I desired the Silmaril of Beren? Was Beleriand and all who dwelt there always so little in the eyes of the gods, compared to the Silmaril?Melian my Queen and beloved, I love you now and always, until the Great End of all loves. But the ways of the gods are not our ways, and their care is for all the world and not only for we small Children dwelling within it. The Song is Marred beyond mending, but yet binds us all, Ainu and Elda alike. And so betrayal is woven into the foundations of the world. I do not hate you, my love, my goddess, and _I do not forgive_.

. . . . .


End file.
